Present or Past
by in-reveries
Summary: Lord Voldemort is winning and nothing seems to be able to stop the rising tide of darkness. But perhaps the key to his defeat was his past. Lord Voldemort may be heartless, but that doesn't mean he wasn't once human too. Long ago, he loved. TMR/OC, HP/OC
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: I edited the contents of the chapter, but it isn't too major. Sorry for the long wait, but I don't think I can upload chapter 2 until another 2 or 3 weeks as I am going overseas on a school trip.

* * *

><p>Harry rubbed his face tiredly – his entire body ached and his head pounded painfully. He gingerly made his way to the hospital wing, dreading how Madame Pomfrey would undoubtedly fuss over him and berate him for putting himself in danger, once again. Feeling a little apprehensive, he slowly hobbled in on his good leg, the other having been injured by a particularly well-aimed cutting curse in the fight earlier.<p>

True to his prediction, the moment he walked through the doors, Madam Pomfrey's mouth fell open to form a comical "o" in horror, and her eyes widened as she took in the extent of his injuries.

"Mr Potter! What happened to you?" He dimly registered a shriek. The Mediwitch practically dragged him to the nearest bed and then she waved her wand to vanish his clothes so she could get a good look at his injuries. A year ago, Harry would have been blushed in mortification, but this has happened so many times that he did not even blink an eye now. Sighing, he allowed the Mediwitch to drag him to a bed and gorge him with various potions and cast healing spells, one after another, on his battered body.

"After all this time, you should at least know better! That was absolutely reckless…stupid decisions…I don't understand…rash and foolhardy! Do you have a death wish…has got to stop…not going anywhere…never again! ...saving people thing of yours!" Harry registered fragments of Madame Pomfrey's worried rant.

_I swear, she must be related to Hermione somehow…_

"Head…hurts," he mumbled softly.

"Well, that ought to teach you something! Alright, drink this, it should subdue the pain a little," the portly woman angrily, but not unkindly, shoved a vial of bright green potion towards the pained boy under her care.

The moment the potion touched his tongue, Harry felt a wave of drowsiness, and he slumped on the bed, letting the blissful relief of sleep overtake him.

* * *

><p>He woke up in the middle of the night.<p>

The pain in his head was gone, and the bruises that previously littered his skin were all gone. Harry made a mental note to thank the Mediwitch. Despite all her rather irritating rebukes, she really was a great healer.

He gazed up at the stark white ceilings of the Hospital Wing for a while, recalling the events of the previous day; Voldemort had decided to attack Woodsburgh, a wizarding village near Godric's Hollow. Of course, due to his "saving people thing", he had apparated directly into the fray, and joined the battle. They were lucky this time, only 12 people died and about 40 were injured.

He winced inwardly at the numbers: "lucky", indeed. What a morbid judgment, but unfortunately accurate.

With Dumbledore dead, the Order has been in absolute disarray. Professor McGonagall is trying her best to keep things under control, but Voldemort's forces have been growing exponentially. His amassed army seemed intent on destroying the entire magical Britain, given the wave upon wave of attacks launched at various places the past few months. With every attack, people died, families destroyed, houses burnt and death and depression seemed to infect the entire community like a pandemic, and all they could do was fight their best, but their efforts were a futile one.

Voldemort would win eventually, he knew that. People will get tired of fighting, of all the deaths, and then he would take over. The Light side's numbers are all but dwindling. Remus and Tonks were both dead. Flitwick, Moody, Bones and numerous others were, too. Just a few weeks back, an attack had led to Dean's and Seamus's deaths.

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

The scene looked like it was taken straight from a horror movie. Bodies, some battered some dead, littered the bloody ground. The air was thick with the stench of death and acrid black smoke. Screams filled the night – of agony, of fear, of disbelief and of anguish. Jets of stunning scarlet and electric blue and deadly green coloured the picture. The combatants hurled curses left, right and centre, aiming to kill or at the very least maim, even if the thick haze from the burning buildings made it virtually impossible to see if their wands were pointed at a friend or foe.

A sudden loud crack echoed in the night.

Suddenly, several dozens of Death Eaters apparated into the street, their black cloaks swishing like the bloody night sky and silver masks glinting menacingly. They proceeded to support their comrades, and immediately Harry knew all hope was lost.

"Fall back! Everyone return to the Headquarters. Now!" he screamed hoarsely, but it was lost amidst the cacophony of cries and curses of the battle.

He stumbled his way into the fray, grabbing whichever friend he could find and telling them to go back. Then he spotted at the corner of his vision a swish of flaming red.

"Ginny! What are you still doing here? You have to go back now!"

"No! Dean…I can't find Dean!"

"He probably left already!"

"No, he wouldn't leave without me. Harry, help me find him, please!"

"Ginny, there isn't time, Dean will be okay, you have to get out of here now!"

"No!" Ginny insisted breathlessly.

Then they both saw him.

Dean was huddled on the ground over a dead body, sobs wracking his frame. Behind him, stood a Death Eater, who was smirking.

They watched as if in slow motion; how the Death Eater whispered the deadly curse, how the sickly emerald curse left the end of his wand and hit Dean straight on the back, and how Dean immediately crumpled on top of the body beneath his, dead.

Ginny screamed. Tears of horror and denial streamed down her face, but she knew even as she ran towards Dean that she was too late, that her fiancé was dead. She clutched desperately at his limp form, shaking him and begging him to wake up. Then Ginny felt a pair of arms around her, and she was tugged into apparition.

"Shhh, Ginny…Ginny, it'll be okay…"

Ginny only shook her head, crying even harder.

"No, it isn't. You know that. We'll all die, Harry…"

Harry didn't know what to say to that, so he only hugged her trembling frame, his eyes staring unseeingly in disbelief at the lifeless body of Dean, and the corpse, which Dean was holding on to, of Seamus.

That night, he couldn't sleep. How could he? The night felt too stifling, too silent. The absence of Dean's snores and Seamus' loud breathing rang far too loudly in his ears.

Every time his eyes fell shut, he saw their faces, eyes fixed open in a glassy stare; their bodies, caked in blood and bruised black and blue. Harry recalled how Dean ecstatically announced he was engaged to Ginny. He reminisced how Seamus giddily introduced to them his new boyfriend, whom he was going to move in with. Then he remembered them lying on the floor of the Headquarters, dead.

He gritted his teeth as the sting of the loss of his two friends lanced through his heart. He let the tears fall as grief ravaged him, once again, far too many times.

/ END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>His stomach clenched – their deaths still were painfully fresh in his mind. One would think that by now, he'd be numb to all the deaths.<p>

Now, everyone who still lived was exhausted. Harry felt a small bloom of pride, though. The remaining members of the DA had made it clear that they would not stop fighting to their last dying breath. He only wished that there was an actual chance of winning.

"_What a joke,_" Harry thought bitterly. He was supposed to be the Chosen One, but there was nothing he could do to stop the monster's rise to power. He gritted his teeth at the sudden burst of guilt and helplessness he felt.

"_No, I can't give up. Not now. Not to that monster."_

He sighed and got out of bed. He needed a place to think, to plan, and the sound of owls hooting outside the Hospital Wing windows were simply far too distracting.

He silently crept out of the Hospital Wing, feeling a little bad about how Madame Pomfrey would probably get a heart attack at the sight of him gone.

Harry absently wandered the corridors, debating with himself where to go.

He suddenly stopped in his tracks, recognizing the familiar surroundings. Deep in thought, he hadn't realized that his feet had carried him to the corridor in front of Moaning Myrtle's chambers. Feeling somewhat nostalgic, he went inside, deciding to pay a visit to the Chamber where he had defeated Voldemort five years ago. It felt like a lifetime ago, really.

He opened the door to the bathroom and looked around before stepping in, just in case anyone should see him entering a girls' bathroom. He smiled a little fondly as he recognized the cracked windows, grubby floors and Myrtle's sobbing sounds. Slowly tracing the small snake engraved on the sink, he hissed softly in Parseltongue and watched the sinks open and a black void in the centre appeared. He stood at the edge of the opening, somewhat reluctant to jump in and get his robes all dirty.

Feeling a bit foolish, he hissed out, "Sstairsssss."

Harry jumped back in shock. He watched incredulously as stairs appeared in the pipes – and to think he ruined his robes sliding down that slimy pipe all those years ago.

Carefully, Harry climbed down the spiral staircase. He wrinkled his nose when he saw the basilisk skin at the bottom. Frowning, he made his way to the chamber, easily stepping through the opening in the cave-in that Ron made. He hissed once again at the door that led to the Chamber, now wondering why he decided to come here. It certainly wasn't bringing back any good memories.

Harry almost choked at the stench of death and decay that immediately pervaded his senses once the door opened. He realized he should probably have sent someone to harvest the basilisk, it sure would have been worth quite a bit of fortune.

He waved his wand and took a relieved breath as the horrid stench dissipated. He hesitantly made his way towards the gigantic corpse, feeling weirdly awed that his younger self actually managed to kill it. Of course, he probably would have died if it wasn't for Fawkes. It looked quite fresh for a corpse. Maybe it could still be harvested, after all.

Harry cautiously explored the Chamber, wary of any spells that may have been put in place to ward off intruders, although, if there were, they were probably already set off years ago when his younger self ran around the Chamber to flee from the basilisk.

It was a dauntingly majestic place, he decided, as he took in the sight of the elaborately carved pillars and the shining black marble floor. But the rotting basilisk corpse decidedly ruined the grandiose of the place.

He was walking round the back of Salazar Slytherin's statue when he noticed a faint rectangular outline at its base. He approached it and jerked back in surprise when he realised it was a door hewn into the rock. Coming to a decision, he recklessly pushed it open and stepped in, inwardly blaming his Gryffindor traits for his thoughtless actions.

Harry gasped at the sight that greeted him.

The room inside seemed to be a workplace of sorts. Ancient tomes, undoubtedly invaluable and rare, lined two walls. On another wall, a silver spiral staircase rose upwards to lead to the second floor. The last wall was draped with a huge banner depicting the Slytherin crest. At the centre of the room, a magnificent silver candelabra hung down the ceiling, its candles all lit up with eternal fire. There was a huge table at the corner, with scrolls and journals scattered atop it. At the far side of the room, a working station supporting complicated potions apparatus and dozens of test-tubes and bell-jars containing various potions and ingredients that would undoubtedly make Snape salivate. But it wasn't the majestic interior or the room's undoubtedly priceless contents that drew the sharp intake of breath from him.

Right at the centre of the room was a body, crumpled and seemingly dead.

Heart hammering in his chest, Harry slowly approached the lifeless figure, wary of a trap.

He noticed at once that the body was strangely perfectly preserved. It was of a girl, a very pretty one at that. Her dark, chocolate coloured hair was spread like a halo around her sweet face. Her features were delicate. She had red, slightly pouty lips; prominent cheekbones that only seemed to enhance her sharp features; dark, thick eyelashes and rosy cheeks that makes her look very much alive.

Harry found himself wondering what colour her eyes are, and his hand inched forward to lift her closed eyelids.

Then, he froze in horror, and mentally slapped himself.

"_Merlin, Potter, you sick, sick fuck. How can you think of a_**_dead_**_girl as attractive? Get a grip on yourself, dammit!"_

"_But how can someone dead look so alive?"_

Confused, he reached out cautiously to hold the girl's wrist. His eyes widened in shock when he felt an extremely weak pulse, but a pulse nevertheless, under his thumb. He quickly picked up her body and rushed out of the chamber.

* * *

><p>Harry ran down the halls to the Headmistress's office, past the muttering and curious portraits. He practically screamed the password to the gargoyle barring his way and climbed up the moving staircase two at a time.<p>

"Professor! Professor, you need to come here now!"

A bookshelf slid open and McGonagall stepped out, her hair in curlers and wearing a night gown, her face sleepy.

"Mr. Potter! What could be the problem? You do realize it is past midnight?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth that she noticed the limp figure in Harry's arms. Her hand immediately shot up to her chest in surprise, "Mr. Potter, what is this? Who is the girl?"

Harry gaped at the sight of McGonagall's hair in curlers for a moment before shaking his head quickly, not really understanding what was going on either. The Headmistress quickly conjured a bed and motioned Harry to set the body down, and threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and called for the Mediwitch in an urgent voice.

Madame Pomfrey flooed into the office, her hair disheveled and expression furious.

"Mr. Potter, how dare you leave the Hospital Wing without my permission! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you did! For all I know, you could have been kidnapped! You could have been-"

"Poppy, the girl," McGonagall cut in.

Madame Pomfrey whirled around to see the body on the bed and gasped in shock. Immediately recovering, she began casting various health monitoring charms and malady detection spells.

Harry and Professor McGonagall watched her work her magic anxiously for what seemed like hours. The mediwitch cast various healing charms and awakening spells to no avail, shaking her head and muttering under her breath as she worked. Finally, she stepped back, wiping her brow, a befuddled expression on her face.

"She's alive, but barely. She will be fine. It seems like her body has somehow been kept in a time stasis. She has not aged since whenever it was that she became like this. Judging by the style of her robes, it was quite a while ago. I'm not entirely sure how this happened…"

"But is there a way to fix it?"

She frowned for a moment. "I believe there might be a potion that could help, Mr. Potter. It would take me a week to brew, though. Meanwhile, she can stay in the Hospital Wing."

Professor McGonagall nodded in acquiescence, before her lips tightened into a frown.

"Mr. Potter, do you have any idea at all who she is?"

The two adults both turned to look at him, but Harry only shook his head, equally confused.

Then, a familiar, intrigued voice spoke up.

"I believe I _do_ know."

Three heads whipped around to face the source of the voice.

"Her name is Callista Rose Cross, Head Girl of year 1944, along with Head Boy Tom Marvolo Riddle."

REVIEW! :) _please?_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: I am so very sorry for the unbelievably long time it took me to update. I've been really busy and uhh, lazy, too. I'll try and update more often in the future, though! Also, for those who did not see the A/N in the first chapter, **I edited quite a bit of the first chapter, so you might want to reread it.**

* * *

><p>"I believe I <em>do<em> know."

Three heads whipped around to face the source of the voice.

"Her name is Callista Rose Lacroix, Head Girl of year 1944, along with Head Boy Tom Marvolo Riddle."

The three of them gasped in surprise as one, albeit all for different reasons.

McGonagall even clutched her heart and had to sit down, winded from surprise as she were. _ Really_, she was becoming far too old to teach at Hogwarts _and _fight in this war.

_"But, Albus, I thought she transferred to Beauxbatons!"_

For Harry, on the other hand, only 2 of the words the Headmaster uttered registered.

"_Tom Riddle?" _

Poppy, however, was more concerned over just how long her most recent patient has been "frozen" in that state.

"_1944?"_

Dumbledore's portrait looked slightly amused at their simultaneous but varying response, but then quickly sobered up as he recalled the events that occurred in Tom Riddle's wake about 5 decades ago.

"Poppy, would you mind giving us a little privacy? Perhaps you could start working on that potion you mentioned?"

"Why, Albus, it isn't like I'll go blabbing every word you say to everyone who comes by the Hospital Wing!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed indignantly, but left the office all the same, albeit with a huff of irritation.

Dumbledore's portrait smiled tiredly before continuing his explanation with a grave expression on his face.

"Yes, Harry, she was born in Tom Riddle's era, and was Head Girl. She was a bright student, always competing with Tom for the highest grades. In fact, I recall she beat him in Transfiguration almost constantly, a fact which no doubt constantly irked Tom. Over the years, however, despite their competitive nature, I have sensed no ill will between the two. I am not sure as to whether they are very close, given Tom's aversion to forming any emotional attachments of any sort, but they had seemed amicable, at the very least, and especially so when you consider that they were from opposing Houses. Callista Cross was a Gryffindor and Tom, as you very well know, a Slytherin."

Dumbledore paused a while, and when he continued, his voice was heavy with regret.

"It was with that in mind that I suggested her to be made Head Girl. I had thought, given the lack of animosity between them, not only would my decision may promote inter-house peace, Tom would be less likely to attack her in a bout of rage or for whatever other reason than any other person I considered to become Head Girl. Of course, I was mistaken. She disappeared. She simply stopped attending her classes one day. None of her friends knew where she was and her dormitory was empty. We tried searching everywhere, but we did not manage to find her. In the end, we had no choice but to inform her parents. Fortunately, despite being overcome by grief as they were, they agreed not to sue the school."

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes were now gone, and he kept shaking his head, as though trying to chase away the memories of those days.

"As for her transfer to Beauxbatons Academy, I am afraid that was a complete and utter lie, Minerva. Professor Dippet was afraid that the Board of Governor's might close Hogwarts down if it came to light that there was another disappearance at Hogwarts after the whole Chamber of Secrets fiasco," he said, frowning at a certain portrait beside him, which was seemingly asleep, but was actually only pretending, if the red splotches on his cheeks was any indication of his shame.

"Speaking of which, Harry, where _did _you find her?"

"She was in a secret room in the Chamber of Secrets, Professor."

"The Chamber of Secrets? Mr. Potter, are you out of your mind?! What were you thinking going down there?" McGonagall practically shrieked at him.

Harry simply shrugged a little sheepishly and quickly tried to steer the conversation away from him to avoid the elder witch's scolding.

"Professor, was Riddle responsible for this?"

"It would seem so, Harry. He was the only one who had access to the Chamber, after all. The question is, what did she do to earn Tom's fury?"

At Harry's confused look, Dumbledore elaborated, "Hypothetically, if she were to have discovered one of his secrets, perhaps Tom then decided to dispose of her to silence her. Harry, my dear boy, I think that she might have discovered the existence of his Horcruxes, or perhaps even their locations."

Harry stared at the portrait for a while.

"Professor, aren't you jumping to conclusions a little too fast?" he finally asked uncertainly.

"Indeed, Albus. Tom Riddle has been known to attack students for petty revenge and no other reason except he deemed their blood impure. Maybe she had simply angered him?"

"and Sir, you said yourself that you were not sure if they were close, only that they were amicable. How could she have discovered his Horcruxes if they weren't even very close? Voldemort isn't stupid enough to carelessly leave them lying around, nor would he tell anyone he did not trust implicitly. He didn't even trust Lestrange or Malfoy enough to tell them what the cup and diary were."

Sighing, Dumbledore admitted, "Her blood is undeniably pure, Minerva, but nevertheless, you were right. I was speaking as a desperate old man wishing to see the war over. However, I still firmly believe she could be the key to ending this war. Now, I am a tired old man, and I need my sleep. Good night, my dear Professor, Harry," Dumbledore finished with a smile and closed his twinkling eyes.

Harry and McGonagall looked at each other briefly, both sighing inwardly. Albus Dumbledore's portrait was not of very much help these days, spending most of his time asleep, and his rare words of advice were often convoluted and rather illogical.

* * *

><p>"…and Dumbledore thinks she probably knows the location of the horcruxes and is the key to ending the war," Harry finished.<p>

"Well, we all know Dumbledore was never quite right in the head, mate," Ron commented, and the two boys snickered remembering Dumbledore's antics in the past.

"Remember the bright yellow robes with the animated bees he wore last time?"

"The green and orange one with the hippogriff was worse, mate! I swear I had a nightmare about it once!"

The two boys continued to laugh hysterically, but Hermione stayed silent, her eyebrows furrowed in deep thought.

Harry noticed it first.

"What's wrong, Mione?

"You know, I think he could be right about her," she spoke slowly.

"I mean, about her being the key to ending this war. Do you remember Trelawney's last prophecy, Harry?" she asked.

Harry thought hard, "Yeah, but what's that got to do with her?"

"I don't remember," Ron piped up sheepishly.

Hermione shot him an exasperated glance before digging out a roll of parchment from her book bag and passing it to the redhead.

_The Dark Lord's powers will grow,_

_Like a black tide, rising, unstoppable._

_The Chosen has fought,_

_But win this war alone he cannot._

_Only when the cross returns,_

_The tides may turn,_

_For the cross is the key._

"I still don't get it," Ron complained, "How can a cross be a key when it's, well, a cross?"

"It isn't literally a cross, Ron. Well, it is, but not that cross."

"_Huh?"_

"You said her name was Callista Rose Cross, didn't you, Harry? Cross! She's the one the prophecy was referring to! Dumbledore was right! She could be the key to winning this war."

"I don't know, Hermione. I mean, you were the one who said prophecies are all a bit dodgy. How do we even know it's real?"

Hermione fell silent for a while, the conflict between her many years of absolutely loathing Divination and her ardent wish to see the end of the war clearly shown in her brown eyes.

Finally, she sighed, "We don't. But we better hope it is, because we all know we're losing this war, and we need all the help we can get, even if it came by the form of a prophecy from that crackpot of a teacher."

The trio then fell silent, all lost in their own thoughts, each remembering the losses they have suffered in this war.

* * *

><p>Harry was walking to the Hospital Wing when he spotted Ginny crying in an empty classroom.<p>

"Hey Gin, you alright?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled, wiping her tears.

Feeling bad for the girl, Harry sat down beside her and hugged her.

"It's okay, Gin. You can cry, just let it all out."

Harry sighed sadly. Ginny never did anything to deserve such pain in her life.

When it became clear, several years back, that Harry only regarded her as a sister and could never return her affections, Ginny Weasley had decided to finally grow up and move on. So she began dating Dean, who had been vying for her attentions for some time. Ron disapproved, of course, being the overprotective and overbearing older brother he was. Dean proved to be a great guy though, and he was nice and patient with her. Overtime, Ginny had fallen in love with him, had even accepted his proposal, and now Dean was dead. Now she was alone again, despairing over her lost love.

Harry slowly rocked her and whispered words of comfort while Ginny wept for Dean's death and for the death of the lovely future she had envisaged for them.

Harry only wished he could do more to alleviate her pain, and the suffering of so many others who had lost their loved ones, of so many others who have sacrificed, all in the futile hope of stopping Voldemort's rise to power.

How one man could cause so much carnage, he could not fathom. He found himself wondering why. Why Tom Riddle became Lord Voldemort, why he was so angry at the world, why he turned evil. Was it fated? Was Riddle destined to become a Dark Lord, while he himself destined to be the Saviour of the Wizarding World?

"I just want it over, Harry," Ginny sobbed desperately, bringing him out of his musings.

"I know, Gin, I know. It will be soon," Harry whispered the soothing words, even though he knew they formed a lie – Voldemort would not stop until every single person who opposed him, and their families, are slaughtered.

* * *

><p>Harry walked into the Hospital Wing, his heart still heavy from his earlier conversation with Ginny. He stared at the dark-haired girl lying on the bed unseeingly, once again lost in thought.<p>

_Could you really be the key? Could you change everything?_

_No_, Harry decided. Even if she was the key to them winning the war, it doesn't change the fact that there would still be a war. People will still suffer, will still die. Even if they somehow managed to win, Voldemort's followers will be jailed, or killed. But they were people, too. They deserved to suffer no more than _their_ people did. _Well, maybe a little more._

"Oh, Mr. Potter! Good, you're here! Shall I administer the potion now?" The mediwitch came bustling in, carrying a small vial of bright silvery liquid, looking rather impatient.

* * *

><p>The room was completely dark, except for the light from the burning embers in the fireplace. It illuminated enough to see the shining white masks of hundreds of people kneeling on the floor in a semicircle, all fearfully gazing at the figure sitting on the high-backed throne in front of the room.<p>

"Congratulations, my comrades, for our most recent successful attack. Soon, the Wizarding World will be ours, and soon our world will be cleansed of the mudblood filth that currently permeates it. Soon, we will rule." The Dark Lord announced in a low whisper that echoed throughout the room.

Scarlet eyes roved across the kneeling figures before him, inwardly sneering in disdain. They were _so foolish, so weak._ A wave of his wand and they'd all be dead. His lips curled in distaste at the sight of one of his newer recruits cowering in the corner. He cruelly fixed him with a glare, causing the trembling idiot to wet himself. His lips curled in disgust.

"Master, Master, if I may ask, what is our next course of action?" asked Bellatrix in a hoarse whisper meant to be seductive, batting her eyelashes at the darkly striking man sitting on the black marble throne.

Indeed, Lord Voldemort no longer bore his previously snake-like countenance. With a simple ritual, his handsome features had been easily restored, except for the colour of his eyes: they had remained red as blood, as though a reminder for all the blood he has spilled in his journey to rise to the pinnacle of his power. His hair was of the darkest black and his skin very pale, but the contrast only looked beautiful. His full lips and aristocratic nose and strong jaw looked much like it did decades ago. He looked young, perhaps in his 20s, but that did not mean he was any less fearsome. His attractive visage only contrasted against, and so further emphasized, the dark and powerful aura that wrapped around his figure, making him all the more intimidating, and perhaps, even rather alluring, too.

"Our next target, Bella, is Diagon Alley. You will lead the attack."

"I am so honoured, my Lord," the deranged woman murmured, crawling on her knees towards her master and kissing the hem of his robes, accidentally brushing against his legs, before looking up to meet his gaze with obvious adoration.

"Crucio," Voldemort lazily pointed his wand, his mouth curling up in sadistic glee at her anguished screams.

"I never gave you permission to touch me, Bella. Go back to your place."

* * *

><p>She woke up to blinding white. After blinking for a while, she realized she was in the Hospital Wing.<p>

_How did I get here?_

She tried to lift her arm to shield her eyes from the brightness but it felt surprisingly heavy, like there was something holding it down. She stiffly peered down and then jerked in surprise when she saw the head lying on top of her arm.

Heart beating carefully, she stretched out her other arm, trying to tilt the head just a little bit to the right because she couldn't see the face. But from that shock of messy dark hair, he looked suspiciously like…

"Charles Potter! Get off my arm!" she yelled, horrified.

The boy was jolted awake by the yell and his head promptly snapped up to look at the shrieking girl. Her eyes met startling emerald, and then she blinked.

"Oh. You're…you're not Potter. Although you_ do_ look remarkably alike. Who are you?"

Harry didn't reply.

He was a tad distracted at the sight of her eyes. He wondered before what colour her eyes were; now he knew. They were of a piercing dark violet colour, but nearer to the iris the unique colour faded to a ring of vivid cobalt blue. Harry gaped. He had never seen eyes like those - eyes so mesmerizing in intensity.

Oblivious, and confused at his lack of reaction, Callista waved her hand in front of the strange boy's face, effectively breaking his stunned gaze.

Harry's eyes widened momentarily, and then blushed a little, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

"Uh…I, um…what?" he stammered.

Looking faintly amused, Callista repeated her question.

"I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

"Potter? Are you related to that arrogant git Potter? I mean, Charles Potter?"

"Uh…yeah, actually. Charles Potter was my grandfather."

"Oh, no wonder you two looked so similar, that trademark messy hair and all," she remarked astonishingly calmly, before reaching for the glass of pumpkin juice on her bedside table.

She was halfway through her drink when what Harry had said really dawned on her. Her eyes widened in shock and she choked on her water, spluttering and coughing hard.

"Wait, what do you mean he's your grandfather?!" she gasped.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

A/N: Hello! Thank you for all the reviews! :) Sorry I never replied each review individually but I'm glad that you guys liked this story so far. Ah, and sorry for the slow update *insert sheepish laugh here*

* * *

><p>She was halfway through her drink when what Harry had said really dawned on her. Her eyes widened in shock and she choked on her water, spluttering and coughing hard.<p>

"Wait, what do you mean he's your grandfather?!" she gasped.

"Uh…I meant that my father, James Potter, was Charles Potter's son," Harry spoke confusedly, not really knowing how to explain the current situation to her.

"But…_how?_" Callista questioned, completely flabbergasted.

Perhaps this strange boy – Harry Potter, did he say he was he called? – was mad, after all. What kind of nonsense was he spouting anyway? If Charles Potter was his grandfather, and this Harry looked about 18, wouldn't she herself have to be like, almost _70 years old_? She clapped her hands to her mouth, looking rather horrified. Then she realised, her hands were smooth. No wrinkles. She took a deep breath to calm herself before hesitantly voicing out her doubts.

"Harry, perhaps, you are slightly, umm, confused?"

He opened his mouth to speak but she quickly continued, "I mean, if you are that prick's grandson-" she broke off to scoff at the thought (_why anyone would bear Potter's spawn is a mystery)_ "I'd have to be over 65 years old, and I'm not! And this would be like year, nineteen ninety…something, which, of course it isn't, since I uhh…" she faltered for a moment, "-fainted, probably only a few hours ago," she concluded triumphantly with a winning smile.

Harry blinked a little dazedly at the sight of her radiant grin; the stunned look in his eyes only further confirming Callista's belief that this boy was indeed crazy.

"Do you need me to call the Mediwitch?" she asked him uncertainly, bringing Harry back to the present.

Harry shook his head quickly and scowled, mentally berating himself for acting like some stupid, lovesick puppy. Then, unsure of how to break the news, he decided to take the Band-Aid approach – just get it over and done with. He reached for the roll of Daily Prophet on a nearby bedside table and passed it to her.

"Look at the date."

A tendril of self-doubt suddenly crept into her. She looked up into startling green eyes apprehensively, before forcing herself to unroll the newspaper.

The date was October 25th, 1998.

Her mouth dropped open almost comically, her brain frantically trying to register the numbers. A sense of panic suddenly enveloped her and she felt her throat close up. Callista gasped for air, hyperventilating, and then she started to _scream._

Madam Pomfrey was having a rare pleasant dream when the ungodly noise roused her. She jumped out of her bed and quickly rushed out to aid her distraught patient. Grabbing a vial of Calming Drought, she gently pressed the vial into the girl's hands, coaxing her to drink its contents. The screaming stopped as soon as the potion touched her tongue.

By the time she finished the potion, she was significantly more subdued. Harry, on the other hand, was more than a little shaken by the girl's reaction.

"Mr. Potter! _Honestly_, couldn't you have found a gentler way to break the news to the poor girl?" scolded the Mediwitch.

"I thought it'd be better to get it over with fast," Harry mumbled, quite abashed.

"Well, try not to provoke her too much now, her emotional state must be quite fragile after just waking up from such a long period of stasis." Turning to her silent patient, Madam Pomfrey continued, "I know it's shocking, dear, but everything is fine. Mr. Potter here will fill you in on what is going on," she smiled kindly, before going back to her quarters.

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

"What are you reading now, Tom?"

A slim brunette settled into a couch by the fireplace, her neck craning to get a peek at the tome clutched by the slender fingers of a handsome, 17-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle.

"None of your business, Rose," he waved the girl away, but not unkindly.

"Play chess with me, I'm bored."

"I'm not."

"Unfriendly git," she grumbled.

"Selfish, spoiled brat," he smirked.

She grabbed the book and danced away out of his reach, earning an indignant "Hey!". She laughed and spun away when his arms tried to catch her. A mischievous glint sparkled in her violet eyes as she ran from his chasing form, her laughter resounding in the room. He caught her in no time, though; his arms snaked around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest, causing her already-pink from running cheeks to blush a bright red.

She tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, focusing her thoughts elsewhere, anywhere but the solid chest her back was pressing against.

" Very funny, Rose," his tone as if scolding a little girl.

"The Complexities and Intricacies of Time – Spells Gone Wrong. By Tim Turner," she read the title.

"This sounds horribly boring, Tom. Are you sure you won't rather play a game of chess?"

He neatly plucked the book from her hands in response.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>"Spells gone wrong, indeed," she thought darkly, and then sighed, "I'm sorry I screamed, it must have shocked you."<p>

Harry laughed slightly nervously, "It did, yeah, I thought you had gone completely bat shit crazy for a moment there."

"I thought I had gone mad too, actually," Callista laughed sheepishly in response.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, she pierced Harry with her violet gaze.

"Tell me more."

Harry spent the next 3 hours or so telling about everything she had missed out on during her long slumber. He told her everything from Tom Riddle's evolution into one of the most powerful Dark Lords of all time to Voldemort's first rise to power. He recounted the fateful Halloween night that secured him his front line position in the current war as The-Boy-Who-Lived and the prophecy that made him the Chosen One. He even explained the secrets of Voldemort's immortality and described regretfully their failed attempts to retrieve and destroy the horcruxes. If she was the key to the war, then she needs to know everything. He spoke of the current war that the Light side was tragically losing and the people whom he failed to save and the most recent raid. He talked until his voice was hoarse and his eyes glistened with unshed tears while she listened quietly and attentively with her expression utterly unreadable, not once interrupting him.

"- and then for some reason I had the urge to go explore the Chamber. The basilisk was dead, I killed it in my second year, but it was surprisingly well preserved, by the way. I probably should send someone down to harvest the bits, must be worth quite a few galleons. And well, anyway, that was when I found you lying on the floor inside Slytherin's statue, and I immediately brought you to Madam Pomfrey," he finished.

She remained silent as he stopped talking and looked at her uncertainly, gauging her reaction. The silence quickly morphed into an awkward one, forcing Harry to look away. If only for the sake of breaking the silence, he conjured a goblet and filled it with water to soothe his burning throat. But just as he brought it up to his lips, her hand suddenly came out of nowhere and knocked it over. Harry spluttered in shock – his shirt now drenched with cold water – staring up at her now standing frame. Her eyes were burning with fury, practically spitting purple flames.

"You are a _despicable_ liar!" she hissed at him.

Then she turned and ran out of the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry to sit there, soaked and shivering and completely flabbergasted.

* * *

><p>Tom would never – <em>could never – <em>commit such atrocities. How _dare _that Potter accuse Tom of such crimes? Like grandfather, like grandson, she supposed. Charles Potter was never above such bitter and disgusting tricks in his blind crusade against all things Slytherin. This has to be some sort of sick joke. It can't be true, of course not. This is probably another of that git's pranks. But _honestly, _even Charles had never indicted Tom to such extents.

_He wouldn't. Tom wouldn't._

* * *

><p><em>FLASHBACK/_

"You haven't slept in 2 days, Tom! At least take a nap! That book can wait; it's not going to disappear."

The raven-haired boy ignored her and continued to read his precious book with an enraptured expression, his gaze scanning the text excitedly, shining with a strange fervour and triumphant glee.

"Tom, we have class tomorrow, you should get some –"

"Tell the teachers I'm not feeling well," he interrupted impatiently.

She gaped at him: the Head Boy Tom Riddle skipping classes? She never thought she'd see the day.

"I'm not going to lie for you, Tom, this is for your own good! Go and sleep," she retorted disapprovingly. She turned away and made towards the staircase that led to her rooms but was jerked back roughly. She stumbled backwards, finding herself looking up into Tom's icy blue stare, his hand gripping her elbow so tight his knuckles were white. His blue eyes narrowed threateningly.

"You _will_ tell the teachers that I am not feeling well, do you understand?" he ordered her in a deceptively calm, yet absolutely frightening, voice.

"What are you doing? Let go of me!" she struggled futilely to wrench her arm away from his crushing grip, but it only tightened painfully.

"Do you understand, Rose?" his voice was dripping with venom now, and Rose's eyes widened in slight fear.

"Tom, you're hurting me! Let go!" she snarled out furiously, attempting to use anger to mask her increasing alarm at Tom's behaviour.

His eyes narrowed in response, and his other hand shot out to curl around her neck. Rose gasped uselessly, her hands scrabbling at the one strangling her neck, and her mind spinning as it demanded the oxygen it was denied. Her eyes watered as the pressure around her throat increased. She could only gaze at Tom, transfixed at the frightening image of his blue eyes - wild with rage - and the tendrils of thick, dark aura that pulsed eerily around him. A tear slid down her cheeks and landed on Tom's arm as her vision blurred.

Tom's entire body suddenly blanched in response, and he jerked back as though burned, letting Rose go. His entire form sagged as his self-righteous fury evaporated and his expression quickly morphed into one of regret and panic. His blue eyes, now wide with concern, stared in horror at the bruise blooming on the sides of her neck.

"I'm sorry! Oh Merlin, Rose, I'm so sorry," he pleaded.

He didn't dare look at her. He didn't want to see the expression of anger, fear and disappointment he was sure to find on her face, so he looked away.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he repeated softly, his expression guilt-stricken.

She didn't reply; still in a state of shock, and too busy desperately gasping in lungfuls of delicious, precious air as she massaged her abused neck.

"Rose, please," his voice was pained, "Say something."

His hand reached to heal her exposed elbow, also bruised from his grip, this time without ill intent. But the moment her fingers touched her, she recoiled back as if struck, and her gaze snapped to him, and her purple eyes were fearful. She was scared of him.

"I'm going to go sleep," Tom mumbled and quickly escaped to the confines of his room, safe from her judging and apprehensive stare.

In his haste, Tom forgot all about the book he was reading, still lying on the couch.

Rose slumped against the wall, forcing herself to calm down. Tom just strangled her. He actually strangled her. She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly blinked it off. She recalled his rage-filled features, the pulsing aura, so very dark, the hate-filled gaze and the cruel smirk. She shook her head. That person just now, that wasn't Tom.

As she turned to retire to her rooms, her gaze was caught by the book that was left on the couch. Now burning with curiosity, Rose reached out for it, wondering what topics it wrote of that could entrance her friend so much. Tom had not been himself the past few days. He barely talked, ate or slept – all he did was read that accursed book. He became very short-tempered and earlier, completely menacing. She slowly lowered her eyes to the title, half fearful that the book was one of those tomes that cursed the reader.

"Immortality," she read. Frowning, she flipped through the book, but there were so many terms she could not understand. She rifled through the pages before pausing at one particular dog-eared chapter, its margins overflowing with Tom's elegant script. There was not one page of that chapter that has an inch of blank space, filled as it was with Tom's thoughts and questions. She flipped back to the beginning of the chapter.

Horcruxes, it was titled.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>Callista paled at the memory that surfaced in her thoughts.<p>

Then she started shaking her head fervently in denial.

_It was a book. It meant nothing. So what if Tom read a book on horcruxes? That doesn't mean he would go on to make one. That doesn't make whatever the Potter boy said about Tom being some crazed Dark Lord now true. Alright, so maybe he was quite interested in the subject. Oh, fine, very interested. _

She bit her lip at the unwelcome thought, recalling the notes Tom had written all over the chapter on Horcruxes.

_But it could've been for some research paper, some extra credit essay Slughorn wanted him to do! I'm sure he wasn't actually contemplating on making a Horcrux. Or six, like the Potter boy claimed, which really is just preposterous…right? _

Her thoughts trailed off as she started to realize the very real possibility that Potter was, in fact, _not_ lying to her. Her heart sank.

Tom killed at least six people to become immortal. Many more than six, actually, if all Harry Potter said was true. He became a murderer. Oh Merlin.

Callista sank to her knees in despair.

* * *

><p>"The wards are too strong, my lord, we might need assistance from the Gringgotts curse-breakers. I have been negotiating with the goblins, give them a few more days, there should not be a problem," Lucius Malfoy's silky baritones echoed in the dark recesses of the spacious room.<p>

The figure on the marble throne, nodded, pleased, for once.

"Thank you for your efforts, _my friend,_" he announced imperiously, ruby eyes glinting with satisfaction.

"Next."

A trembling Death Eater shuffled forward, hardly daring to raise his eyes to meet his Lord's crimson ones. Lord Voldemort felt a strong surge of fury, his hands already moving towards his wand, ready to torture the failure that was kneeling in front of him.

"What news do you have to report of your mission, Reef?" the Dark Lord hissed out, voice full of menace.

"I…he was…I couldn't-" the kneeling man stuttered, dread freezing his tongue.

"You have failed me, you _imbecile_, and I _detest_ useless fools. Let me remind the rest of you why you should not disappoint me, shall I?"

Blood red eyes gleamed maliciously as he aimed his wand with relish.

He closed his eyes in anticipation of the surge of dark magic and sheer power.

"Avada Kedavra."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.

* * *

><p>Once he recovered from the shock, Harry immediately rushed to find the volatile girl. Merlin forbid she goes missing; Poppy would have his head for sure. Checking his Map, he found a lone dot labelled "Callista Rose Cros" in the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Sighing heavily, he pocketed is Map and made his way down to the field, all the while dreading yet another confrontation with the hot-tempered brunette.<p>

Spotting a figure sitting on the grass, Harry warily approached her. Mentally praying that she wouldn't curse him, he slowly sat beside her. She was shaking with uncontrolled sobs, he realized. Harry sighed again; he _so _hated seeing girls cry. He never knows what to say. It's no wonder him and Cho didn't work out.

"Hey, you alright?" he questioned as he sat down next to Callista.

"Does it_ look _like I'm doing alright, Potter?" she stopped sniffling to snap at him, her dark eyes glaring angrily at the boy beside her.

"Look, I'm trying to be nice here. You really don't have to be rude. I thought people from your time were supposed to be all proper and well-mannered?" Harry quickly retorted back in annoyance.

Looking taken aback for a moment, Callista swallowed and looked away. She shuddered for a moment, trying to get her sobs under control. Taking a deep breath, she looked directly into Harry's bright emerald eyes, "I..I formally apologize. I shouldn't have lost my temper. This wasn't your fault, I understand. You were only trying to help, yet I reacted badly. Please, forgive me?" she spoke sincerely.

Harry blinked at her suddenly formal tone of voice. "I..uh, yeah, sure. It's fine. I uhh.. I accept your apology," he replied, stuttering with his words, not entirely sure what an appropriate reply was.

She hesitantly smiled at him.

"Will you tell me more?"

"W-what?" Harry looked taken aback at the sudden turn in conversation.

"The past 50 years or so...what has happened?"

Harry looked decidedly reluctant to answer, which is completely understandable, of course, considering how the last time he filled her in, he got drenched in cold water.

Sensing Harry's hesitation, Callista quickly interjected, "Not about the war or anything like that!"

"What _do _you want to know then?"

"Well, you don't by any chance remember which team won the 1944 Quidditch World Cup, do you?" she asked excitedly.

For a moment, he gaped at her completely unexpected question . Then, with eyes shining like that of any other excited Quidditch fan when discussing their favourite teams, Harry launched into a detailed spiel on the winners of the World Cup. His long rant about the amazing Wronski Feint and other spectacular moves were punctuated by enthusiastic gasps of awe from his attentive audience. Being an avid fan herself, Calista soon found herself forgetting about the war. For a while, at least.

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

"Will you come and watch the match today, Tom?"

"I have better things to do, Rose," the handsome teen rolled his eyes.

"But it's my first game as captain! You said you would come!" the brunette bemoaned.

Not receiving any response, she mischievously clung to Tom Riddle's arm and started chanting a noisy chorus of "please" and "you promised!".

"Fine!" He finally snapped, icy blue eyes glaring at the girl in annoyance.

Rose's violet eyes widened in delight, and a wide grin stretched across her face.

"Anything to stop your whining," Tom muttered sullenly, earning himself a solid smack in the arm from his friend.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>"So, do <em>you <em>play?"

"Of course! I got into the Gryffindor team as seeker in my first year, got myself a couple of injuries here and there over the years, but I loved Quidditch too much to stop," Harry replied with a soft smile on his face as he reminisced over those happier times.

"First year, you said? But they don't allow first years to play!"

"Ah..yeah, I was the youngest seeker in a century or something like that," he explained abashedly, ruffling his hair in humble embarrassment.

"That's...that's just amazing! You _must _be really good! We have to have a one-on-one match!"

"Now?"

"Race you to the broom shed!" Callista called out as she ran to the sheds, all manners and rules of proper conduct of a pureblood girl broken.

"Hey, that's cheating!" Harry shouted as he scrambled up after her.

Soon, two figures were laughing and speeding around the pitch; the girl marvelling over the speed and agility of the newest models of brooms, and the young man marvelling over how, for the first time in a very long time, he felt so carefree.

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

"You didn't come to the match," she spoke quietly, but the disappointment in her voice rang clear and loud.

Tom didn't even look up.

"Why?"

Rolling his eyes, he carefully dog-eared his book and slowly turned to face her. A cruel smirk crossed his face, "I had better things to do than to attend to your every wish. Besides, I had no desire to see our house lose to Gryffindors, as I knew would happen." He glanced up at her, expecting her to react angrily, or perhaps even for tears to well up. Rose always did so easily rise to his taunts, after all.

She didn't. Her face conveyed nothing but disappointment, and maybe a hint of sadness, if you looked hard enough.

"It isn't good to break your own promises, Tom."

"I don't care about what is good. The concept of good and bad is a social construct, it's pointless. I _do_ care, however, about my time being wasted by yet another of your idiotic lectures on behaviour and tact and morality and what not," Tom scoffed.

Silence.

Tom waited for a reply; none came.

She turned to leave their dormitories then, silently closing the door behind her, and all that was left behind was a suffocating silence, and the dreadful feeling of discontent hanging in the air. And Tom. Tom was left sitting there on the velvet green couch, his book closed on his lap, feeling inexplicably guilty. He so wanted to run after her and apologize, but of course, his pride was far too strong to let him do that. So Tom sat there and went back to reading his book. There wasn't really anything he could (and would) do but wait for the stubborn girl to relent, after all.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>"So, Harry, why don't you-"<p>

"Introduce us-"

"to this pretty girl who-"

"almost beat you to the snitch?"

Callista blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of two red-heads on the air beside her and Harry. They looked almost exactly alike, except one of them had -she winced- an ear missing. They each had a constellation of battle scars criss-crossing along the length of their arms, which would have completely intimidated her, except their blue eyes shone bright with mischief and laughter.

"Hey Fred, George, this is Callista, she's 71 years old. Cal, this one's Fred and the one with a missing ear is George. They're absolutely crazy, and trust me, you don't want to eat or drink anything they give you," Harry smirked at the twins.

"Wait, did he just say-"

"You're 71 years old? Well-"

"You absolutely _must_ tell us-"

"The secret to your-"

"youthful looks! I bet a lot of-"

"Stuck-up, snobby pureblooded housewives-"

"Would be interested!"

Callista stared in amazement as the twins completed each other's sentences, having never seen anything quite like it before.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll get used to them," Harry assured.

Regaling tales of their many misadventures at Hogwarts, the Weasley twins had them all laughing uproariously as they trudged back to the castle for dinner. The delicious smell of food wafted out to the entrance hall, and Ron's voice rang out, "Can you all _please _hurry up? Honestly, can't you see I'm starving here?" Hermione snorted beside him, and muttered something that sounded like "How typical."

Ron, as always, started shovelling food into his mouth, inciting twin looks of disgust from the girls: "Honestly, do you even chew?"

Hermione, on the other hand, satisfied her curiosity in favour of dinner, "So, just how different was Hogwarts in your time? When was that, anyway?"

"1940s. I'm 17 now, and I fell into stasis in 1944. It's not _that_ different really. The Great Hall looks about the same, except" - she faltered a little, "Well, except that it was actually a school then, you know? Now, it's more of a fortress than anything."

Hermione nodded understandingly. "Oh, so that means Harry, Ron and I all actually a year older than you are. And yes, Hogwarts does feel very different, even from how it was like just last year," her voice trailed off as she reminisced over fonder memories.

"But anyway, what was the curriculum like?"

Harry, who had been listening to the whole conversation, groaned. He tuned out when the girls began an in-depth discussion over how much the education system and the syllabus changed, and if it was for the better.

"I can't believe you learnt Spell Creation and we didn't! I mean, I already know that of course, it was mentioned in Hogwarts: A History. It's just that you're about our age, you know, and you actually got to learn such amazing things! Do you know how _hard_ it is to find books on spell creation theory? Apparently the ministry decided that the class has potential to encourage Dark Arts and banned it. Those incompetent idiots!" Hermione grumbled indignantly.

"Well, even if the Ministry didn't ban it, with the huge drop out percentage, I'm sure the school was bound to cancel the whole subject sooner or later. It was honestly a pretty tough subject, even Tom said so." Callista's eyes widened, realizing a moment too late what she had let slip.

"Tom? You mean Tom Riddle?" the name caught Harry's waning attention.

"I...yes, yes I did."

"You knew him very well, then, did you?" Ron interjected, his tone almost accusatory.

"Ron!" Hermione admonished him before probing for answers herself, albeit in a less demanding way, "Could you tell us more about him? If you don't mind, that is?"

Callista felt cornered. She couldn't, _wouldn't, _betray Tom's trust by telling these practically strangers all about him. But he's changed, hasn't he? He became a Dark lord. He murdered. He's evil. And these people had been nothing but nice to her. She felt Harry's expectant gaze on her.

"Tom was..."she trailed off, unable to continue. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, gritted her teeth and looked away.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel well," Callista blurted out, before abruptly fleeing the Hall.

_What would Harry think if he found out she was best friends with his parents' murderer?_

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

"It isn't about some stupid match, Tom, you idiot!" she growled furiously.

Tom looked slightly shocked and thoroughly flabbergasted. Well, by Tom's standards, at least. Considering his normally stoic mask, the fact that she made his mouth part open and his eyebrows knit together slightly was quite an impressive feat, actually.

"Well, what are you so spitting mad about then?"

Rose took a deep breath to calm herself. "You see, Tom, when people are friends, they support each other. Even for stupid stuff like Quidditch, or if your friend is stressing over homework. It's called loyalty."

"That sounds so Gryffindor," he sneered.

Frowning, Callista bit out, "Loyalty is more of a Hufflepuff trait, remember? But anyway, I am a Gryffindor, Tom. Do you still have a problem with that?"

"No, of course not!" Tom quickly appeased the easily angered girl. "I just meant that I would appreciate if you don't try converting me into one of your overly-sentimental, foolish friends."

"My friends aren't foolish, Tom. Plus, being emotional doesn't make you stupid, it makes you strong."

Tom scoffed in response.

"And I wasn't trying to make you more Gryffindor, Godric knows that's impossible. You're Slytherin through and through. But friendship is important, Tom. And so is keeping promises. You promised me that you would come. You can't just decide to forget about the match and read your book instead. it wouldn't matter if you didn't promise, but you did. It's just not right to make promises you don't even intend to keep," Rose lectured the boy lounging across her, icy blue eyes staring uncomprehendingly.

Tom sighed in frustration. "Let's just stop with these 'life lessons', Rose. It's absolutely pointless and it's a waste of my time."

"No, we're not giving up here. We haven't even really started. How else am I supposed to stop you from evolving from a selfish prick to a heartless sociopath?" she joked.

Icy blue eyes flashed dangerously for a second, and Rose couldn't decide if it was a mere trick of the light.

"Fine," Tom let out a long-suffering sigh, "I've learnt my lesson. I shouldn't make promises I can't keep. Now can I go back to my book?"

In response, Rose raised up his book, "Oh, this thing?" before hiding it behind her back. At Tom's furious glare, she stuck out her tongue, and promptly whipped it out and used it to smack the back of his head, before jumping up and hastily fleeing the room.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>As Callista crawled into her bed that night, she spotted a scroll of parchment lying on top her sheets. The loopy, cursive handwriting was unmistakeable.<p>

_"Dear Ms. Cross,_

_Please do me a favour and stop by my office tomorrow afternoon for some tea. I believe we have matters to discuss._

_p.s. I adore Fizzing Whizbees_

_Cheers,_

_Albus Dumbledore"_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, unfortunately :(

A/N: First of all, thanks for all the favourites and alert subscriptions and review. Anyway, here's another chapter for you readers. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Callista woke up to bright sunlight shining through the windows into her eyes, causing her to jolt upright immediately. Horrified at the thought of being late, she ran to the showers and rushed to get ready before she slipped on the wet tiles in her haste, and, rubbing her bum, realized that there weren't going to be any lessons.<p>

She slowly made her way down to the kitchens, rubbing her bruised behind and grumbling under her breath. Preoccupied as she was with her throbbing injury, she completely failed to take notice of the blonde haired figure walking her way.

"Ow! Watch where you're going!" Draco Malfoy cried out angrily when some random girl suddenly barreled into him out of nowhere.

Callista jerked in surprise and looked up at the boy she accidentally crashed into. Her eyes widened in recognition, before narrowing as her pretty features twisted into an expression of utter loathing.

"You know, I thought that when I woke up in this time, that meant that I'm at least free from having to see the likes of you, Malfoy."

Silver eyes glared at the antagonistic remark.

"How do you know my name? And you owe me an apology, you twit, you're the one who barreled into me like some oblivious Hufflepuff."

"Blonde hair, arrogant jerk, thinks he's superior to everyone else, scum under my shoe, who else could you be but a Malfoy? You're the spitting image of your grandfather," Callista spat out.

Draco growled under his breath. If he hadn't sworn to Dumbledore that he would try his best to change, he would have his wand out and curse this rude girl into non-existence. As it was, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

"Look, I don't know what problems you had with my grandfather, but I'm not him, alright? Now back off," he snapped.

"Sure, Malfoy. I have better things to do than associate with the likes of you anyway," Callista sneered before carefully stepping aside to make sure that she doesn't touch any part of the silently fuming boy in front of her. As if bumping into him wasn't already bad enough_, _she thought, silently resolving to shower as soon as her scheduled meeting with the Headmaster was over.

* * *

><p>She managed to reach the Headmaster's office without running into any more trouble. Callista paused at the stone gargoyle, which was currently smirking at her in silent challenge. She shot it a triumphant smile, "Fizzing Whizbees!" She inwardly shook her head at Dumbledore's childish obsession, but she had long come to accept that her transfiguration teacher <em>- and now Headmaster-<em>was nothing if not eccentric.

"Ah, Miss Delacroix, please, have a seat. Would you care for some lemon drops?" Dumbledore's voice greeted jovially, blue eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles.

She looked around for the source of the voice, but no one was in the office except for her.

Confused, she decided to wait and look around the office. It was certainly very different from how it looked in her time. Headmaster Dippet didn't collect nearly half as many trinkets, most of his shelves were filled with books. She spotted a portrait of him, hanging on the far left on the wall behind the Professor Dumbledore's table. He smiled and inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

Callista did a double take when she realized that right next to Professor Dippet's painting, was Professor Dumbledore's.

"Sir, I didn't realise you were...I mean, well, dead," she stammered.

"Oh there's no need to be so flustered, my dear girl, it was an honest mistake. Besides, death is nothing but the next great adventure."

Callista nodded awkwardly. When no more words were forthcoming, she continued her inspection of the office. Callista stared at the magnificent phoenix sleeping on its perch. Fascinated, she reached out to stroke its beautiful scarlet and gold plumes.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" Dumbledore's voice jolted her out of her own thoughts.

"Ah..yes, he is. What's his name, Professor?"

"Fawkes. Magnificent creatures phoenixes are. Their music is the most soothing and their tears have remarkable healing powers. I was lucky to come across Fawkes, he has been the most faithful familiar."

Not entirely sure how to respond, Callista simply smiled and let her hand drop back to her lap, and waited for Professor Dumbledore to get to the point of this cozy meeting.

"So, how do you find this timeline so far?"

Callista internally sighed, **Dumbledore never was very straightforward**_._

"It's been pleasant enough, Professor. May I ask why you scheduled this little meeting, sir?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily as he answered, "Patience is a virtue, my dear girl. but to answer your question, why don't we wait for Harry to come too? I'm afraid he is rather important to our discussion, but he appears to be running late."

Slightly abashed, Callista nodded in agreement, and decided to resume stroking Fawkes' feathers. Dumbledore, meanwhile, decided to tell her more about how he acquired Fawkes as his familiar. His tale was interrupted, however, when Harry burst into the room, panting hard.

"I'm so sorry I was late, Professor, I lost track of time playing chess with Ron," he apologized profusely.

"It's fine, my dear boy. It is important to enjoy what little pleasures are left in life, what with the war raging so fiercely. Now, before we get started, lemon drops, my boy? They're inside the glass bowl on the table." Dumbledore offered.

Harry awkwardly refused and took a seat next to Callista, wondering just what this meeting was about. He had a rough idea, though, and a strong feeling that Callista wouldn't like it. He recalled how she ran out during dinner at the mention of Tom the day before. Harry groaned. No, she wouldn't like what Dumbledore has to say at all.

"Now, my dear girl, what you must first understand, is that we're in a war, and if nothing changes, we_ will_ lose, and believe me when I say, the wizarding world ruled by Lord Voldemort would be a dark and dreadful place, indeed. The problem with defeating Lord Voldemort, however, lies with the fact that he is immortal, or at least, as close to immortal as any man has ever been."

"_Horcruxes_," Callista spat out, the word leaving a bitter taste in her mouth.

"Ah, I see young Harry here has already informed you of our current...predicament. Well, that makes my task easier," Dumbledore remarked happily before continuing. "You see, right now, other than the ring, the diary and the tiara, which have all been destroyed, Lord Voldemort still has 3 horcruxes yet to be destroyed. Our efforts to search for them, up to now, has been fruitless. When Lord Voldemort discovered that his ring horcrux were stolen, I believe he removed all his remaining horcruxes from their hiding places and stored them in a different place for safekeeping. Now that he knows that _we_ know about his horcruxes, he will no doubt place very heavy protections surrounding his horcruxes. Now, we already know what the other three horcruxes are: Salazar Slytherin's locket, Helga Hufflepuff's Cup and Nagini, his pet snake. The question is, where are they hidden?"

Callista listened carefully to Dumbledore's explanation, her forehead scrunched up in thought, he head slowly shaking, still in disbelief. But she knew they were not lying of course, she simply couldn't accept the fact that Tom had turned into the cruel, deranged monster that Lord Voldemort. Her heart heavy, she spoke up, "So where exactly do I come in in all of this, Professor? I don't understand how I could possibly help. I'm hardly a fighter, my duelling skills are practically non-existent. My Defence Against the Dark Arts knowledge is decent at best. I can't help you win this war," she pleaded, her tone slightly desperate.

Harry frowned, "Here it goes"_, _he thought warily.

"Oh, but you _can_, Miss Delacroix. You were Head Girl along with Tom Marvolo Riddle, and you often interacted with him. It is difficult to find a person alive today who knows of Tom Riddle's past, let alone willing to talk about it. I believe, Miss Delacroix, should you tell us everything you know of Tom Riddle, show us every interaction you have had with him, you just might give us a clue as to where Lord Voldemort has hidden his remaining horcruxes."

Dumbledore continued to ramble, oblivious to the way Callista's posture stiffened and gaze hardened. Her thoughts raged in a silent battle inside her head.

_'So he expects me to just go and spill all of Tom's secrets to him. He wants me to betray my best friend._

_No, he wants you to help defeat Voldemort. The guy who murdered countless people without feeling even a tiny morsel of remorse.'_

_"-_ do not believe that he would place them in a place that has no link or significance to him, simply because-"

_'No, I can't. I know much more about Tom than he thinks I do. And I swore my loyalty to Tom a long time ago. Even if Voldemort is an evil bastard, I can't betray Tom. They're completely different people. Tom would never do all those horrible things. It just wouldn't be right._

_But letting Voldemort continue to live and kill isn't either._

_But they're not the same person, are they?'_

"-as ridiculous as the thought of him feeling any sort of sentiment to anything is- "

_'They are now.'_

"-a pensieve which I had modified myself, when I was still alive, of course, so that it projects the memories out instead of us having to delve into them, thus allowing me to see, as well. Now, if you-"

_'No. I won't betray Tom's memory like this. They can find their own bloody way to get their hands on those horcruxes.'_

"Good luck finding that person, Professor, because I can't help you," Callista interrupted rudely, before standing up and leaving the room without saying another word. She slammed the door for good measure.

Professor Dumbledore broke off his monologue and blinked in surprise.

"Well, that went rather well," Harry remarked dryly, albeit inwardly disappointed that he didn't get to see the temperamental girl douse the Headmaster's portrait with water.

* * *

><p>Callista's foul mood didn't dissipate in the slightest by dinner. In fact, the sight of Malfoy sitting on the other side of the hall probably worsened it.<p>

"Why is he here?" she asked with disgust.

Harry's raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Who? Malfoy?"

"Who else?" she sniffed in disdain.

"Well, he's not _that_ bad, actually. He rebelled against his parents and decided to side with the Light, instead of completing his mission to kill Dumbledore."

Callista snorted, "He probably just wasn't powerful enough to cast the Killing Curse. So he scampered over to our side for protection from the punishment that Voldemort would surely give him. Bloody coward."

"Why do you hate him so much?" Hermione asked curiously, and in a rather curiously defensive tone.

Callista paused for a moment.

"It's his genes. There's nothing good associated with Malfoys," she decided.

Hermione frowned in response, silently disagreeing with Callista's ridiculous reasoning.

Ron, on the other hand, responded heartily, his contempt for Callista's association with Tom Riddle the previous night completely forgotten.

"Hear, hear."

* * *

><p>"Negotiations with Bulgaria went well, my Lord. The Prime Minister agreed to lend us 1000 men for when we attack Hogwarts. The Americans have also agreed to our demands. They will be staying out of this war," a blonde man bowed his head reverently.<p>

Lord Voldemort's face split into a wicked smile, his blood red eyes glinting insanely.

"Excellent job, Yaxley, my friend. You shall be rewarded."

He rose from his throne-like seat, slowly walking down the raised dais with Nagini slithering after him. Cruel eyes surveyed the Death Standing in a semi-circle before him. Suddenly, with a swift moment, he stepped in front of Bellatrix Lestrange, and with a simple flick of his fingers, made a crack appear in her mask. The cracked pieces of her bone white mask fell and shattered into pieces against the stone floor.

Bellatrix only moaned as her mask split and its sharp edges cut the smooth skin of her face.

"My Lord..." she breathed heavily.

"Bella, so eager to please," the Dark Lord murmured. He then raised a finger and traced the cut on her face, before harshly digging his nail into the wound. Bellatrix whimpered in pleasure, believing in her shattered mind that the Dark lord's gesture was a sign of affection.

"Tell me, Bella, how are the preparations for the Diagon Alley attack?"

* * *

><p>Callista carefully perched herself at the window of the Astronomy tower, her legs dangling free.<p>

If anyone were to come and shove her right now, she would fall right down to her death, she mused. But she thought she rather enjoyed the exhilarating feeling of being right on the precipice of danger.

She looked down at the grounds, noting certain differences of the scene that currently captured her attention and how it used to look like, back in her time. There was a particularly gnarled tree that swayed its branches violently by the lake that wasn't there before. The gamekeeper's hut is gone, in its place mounds of rubble that has yet to be cleared. The forest was still, lacking the soft rustle that belied the activities that took place hidden in its dark depths decades ago. She wondered if the centaurs still lived there. Or had the war scared them away? The moon looked the same, though. Just as waxy and mysterious as it had always been. Her hand twitched, and a sharp stab of _loss _hit her.

No one was sitting beside her; the lack of _his_ presence clearly marked by the chill on the left side of her body. A chill that turned into a whisper of longing.

How she wished he was there.

_'Well he is here. Except really, it's not him, but Voldemort.'_

Callista sighed.

_'Things weren't supposed to turn out this way.'_

* * *

><p>AN: Reviews would be appreciated ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, unfortunately.

A/N: An update in the middle of my exams because I can't stand studying for long periods of time :/

* * *

><p>"So, what House did you say you were in again?"<p>

"Gryffindor," Callista shrugged.

"Ooh, cool, I knew you had to be, you're alright," Ron mumbled approvingly through a mouthful of half chewed beef pie; earning twin expressions of disgust from the girls.

"You know, Ron, Gryffindor doesn't always mean someone is good, or trustworthy, or _alright_, as you put it. I mean, no offence to you, Cal, but hey, look at Wormtail - he's vile. And Draco, he's Slytherin but he's not so bad, he's on our side," Hermione lectured disapprovingly from behind her newspaper.

Harry nodded, but Ron couldn't back down from a petty squabble, "Doesn't change the fact that he's a git, Hermione."

"I agree," Callista piped up.

"How can you even say that? You've never even talked to him!" Hermione rounded on her new friend.

"I don't need to hear him to know it, 'Mione. Look at him. He's a...he's just so...damn it, he's a Malfoy, okay, that's reason enough!"

"I don't get it, what do you have against Malfoys? And don't tell me it's in their genes, that isn't even a valid argument," Hermione questioned with narrowed eyes.

"It's not like you've never heard of how corrupt and arrogant and _evil_ the Malfoys are. I doubt the 50 or so years I've been asleep was enough to clean their reputation."

"Still doesn't explain the personal vendetta."

Callista rolled her eyes.

_'Hermione is nice, but hell, why does she have to be so nosy? And perceptive, too. How is she even in Gryffindor when she's always reading and analysing and thinking? I just met them, obviously I am not going to spill to her my entire life story, honestly__**.'**_

"I have my reasons, okay. I don't want to talk about it," she stated evenly before becoming very interested in her french toast.

"Why not? You can tell us, we're your friends!" Hermione persisted.

Callista pointedly ignored her in favour of drenching her toast with more maple syrup.

Hermione let out an annoyed sound, before turning away and unrolling the Daily Prophet. She stared at the front page for a few seconds, before rolling it back up and flinging it to the side.

"What is it?" Harry questioned warily.

_"The ministry remains confident that they will be able to contain the threat of You-Know-Who," _Hermione imitated in a mocking tone. "Honestly! They're a bunch of incompetent idiots! Either that or Voldemort already managed to infiltrate the highest echelons of the ministry, and is trying to lull everyone into a false sense of complacency."

Ron, miraculously, stopped eating.

"You now, there's still The Quibbler," he said, glancing at Harry and Hermione meaningfully.

"Oh Ron, you're brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed, causing the redhead's face to burn scarlet in pleased embarrassment.

Callista frowned, not comprehending what they were talking about.

"What's The Quibbler?"

"It's a newspaper run by the Lovegoods. Luna Lovegood is a friend, she'd agree to help. I don't know if it's wise though, printing news that alerts the Wizarding community to Voldemort's plans, assuming that's what you were trying to suggest, Ron, would mean Luna and her father will be targeted specifically..." Hermione trailed off.

The Trio quickly launched into a discussion of their fledgling plan to retaliate against Voldemort, and how to best protect Luna and her father.

Callista listened attentively, but did not give any input, opting to stay silent; she still wasn't sure whose side of the war she was really on.

* * *

><p>"My faithful followers..." a sibilant voice echoed in the large chamber.<p>

The green flames that covered the ceiling provided just enough light to illuminate the dozens of white masks, the shadows warping and blurring their features, twisting them into faces almost more eerie than that of the pale man standing on the raised dais.

_Almost_, because as handsome as Lord Voldemort was, his demonic eyes were a clear reminder of the gallons of blood he had spilt.

"Today is the day many of you have been eagerly waiting for. Today, we shall show the world why we are superior. Why they should fear us. Why, my dear followers, we are fit to rule. This mission is a statement. It is our chance to stake a claim on our rights. Our right to rule. Because we are more powerful. More cunning. More intelligent. And most of all, because we are Dark, and _chaos,_ _chaos is the natural order of things, so chaos we will bring."_

If his speech was not enough to enrapture his Death Eaters, the clearly visible shimmer of black aura that enveloped his entire being, and the temptation of danger and torture and bloodlust that echoed with his words most certainly sufficed.

The mass of Death Eaters congregated cheered jubilantly, spurred by their misguided convictions and blind loyalty to their almighty leader. The cavernous space thundered with the stomps and shouts of the masked men, all of whom screamed themselves hoarse, swept up in the waves of confidence, of power, of sheer belief that infected the crowd. And while his faithful followers chanted his name, Lord Voldemort watched silently, half satisfied, half..._bored_.

* * *

><p>"You were rude earlier, to Hermione."<p>

"And you were rather quiet, what's wrong?" Callista (rather blatantly) changed the topic.

"I have my reasons, okay. I don't want to talk about it," Harry mimicked her from earlier.

The brunette scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Well I'm sorry, but Hermione was being rather pushy and I got irritated," she defended herself.

"Hermione's nice," Harry protested.

"She is, I know, she just can get a tad overbearing."

"She's my best friend."

"I know," Callista ended the conversation, not wanting to argue over the matter.

She silently picked at the carpet of grass they were sitting on, not entirely sure what to say to break the strained silence that descended upon them. The Giant Squid was lazily floating on the surface of the lake, its tentacles periodically splashing against the water and sending a cool spray in their direction.

"I was just thinking about the war," Harry offered. "You know, how it's just never-ending. And...well, when it does end, I don't think..." Harry cleared his throat, unable to finish his sentence.

"You don't think you can win?" Callista questioned.

"No! Well, yeah, I mean, a little. I don't know. I just don't know," he groaned in frustration, angrily tossing a pebble towards the Squid.

"Hey, the Squid didn't do anything to you!"

Harry only smiled weakly.

"It's just so obvious, you know? That he's winning. And everyone can see that. But they haven't lost hope because they think that somehow I'm going to save the day. _Me. _I can't- I just don't know- I'm nowhere as powerful as him, Cal! I can't win, I can't kill him! And even if by some miracle or sheer dumb luck I win a duel against Voldemort, I don't know if I'd be able to do it, you know?" He ranted furiously, eyes suspiciously glistening.

"This is screwed up."

"What is?"

"All of it. You having to take responsibility. People just waiting for you to save them. Why isn't everyone fighting for their lives?! Why are they waiting for an eighteen year old to save them? It's ridiculous...you shouldn't have to do this. You shouldn't have to carry this burden on your shoulders." Callista spit out furiously.

She tried to calm herself, but found that she was unexpectedly too angry on Harry's behalf. She knew, even in the short span of time she has known him, that Harry was _good. _He's noble. Far too noble for his own good, actually.

"No, I'm not. Anyone would do the same."

Callista blinked. She couldn't believe Harry just said that. If the conversation wasn't so serious she would have laughed at how naive and disillusioned that sentence was.

"You see Harry, that's where you're wrong. You're inclined to believe the good in people, but trust me, most aren't as selfless as you are. I know I'm not. If _I_ was the subject of some stupid prophecy, proclaiming me as the key to the destruction of an evil force hell bent on destroying magical England, I'd get the hell out of country. Far away enough where I won't see news of it getting burnt to the ground so I won't have to feel guilty. And I'd bet you that most people wouldn't either. Choose to fight, I mean. Not like you."

Harry froze. Then his eyes darted around shiftily.

"What?"

"Nothing," he tried to reply nonchalantly, and failing, of course.

"You're not a good liar, Harry," she snorted in amusement.

"That's a very un-ladylike snort," he quipped.

"Don't try and change the topic."

"What are you talking about?" Harry replied innocently.

"I don't know, _you _tell me."

"I'm hungry, is it dinner time yet?"

"Harry, it's 2 in the afternoon. Tell me what you're hiding!" She pouted.

Harry didn't answer.

"Pleaseeee?"

But no matter how much she begged, cajoled and flirted, Harry refused to say another word. So naturally, she stomped off to find Ron.

* * *

><p>"Oh you must be-"<p>

"The famous-"

"Lovely-"

"Short-tempered-"

"Seventy one year-old grandma-"

"That ickle Harry has an itty bitty-"

"Or maybe very serious-"

"Crush on!"

The brunette gaped at the identical redheads that had popped up out of nowhere. Well, no, actually she knew they came from the shortcut behind the statue of Grobbik the Great. She didn't think anyone else knew about that. Well, it _has _been fifty years. Speaking of which...

"Did you just call me a grandma?!" She screeched.

"A very short-tempered one, yes," one of them smirked.

Fuming, she started to storm off, but then their words registered in her mind.

"...Did you say Harry has a crush on me?"

"Why, Gred, I do believe we have a partially deaf one here."

Ignoring the jibe, she continued, "Do you know Ron? Any idea where he is?"

"Ickle Ronniekins?"

"Why of course we know our little baby brother!"

"But why are you interested in him?"

"And not Harry?"

"Unless-"

"Grandma has a crush on-"

"Stop it," she whined. "No, I don't have a crush on Ron, but I do have to talk to him. And speaking of talking, you guys are starting to give me a headache."

"Ah, mission completed then. We live to bring dismay,"

"Much to your dismay," finished the twin the other had called 'Gred'.

Callista cocked her head. Did that mean that he was Fred, or George? She shook her head to clear away the distracting question, but couldn't help but start to giggle, drawing dramatic gasps from the twins.

"She laughed! Gred, we have melted the scary grandma's icy mask of indifference!"

"Very, very funny, guys. But seriously, any idea where Ron is?"

"Knowing him, probably sleeping in his room?"

"Right, of course. Thanks!" She called out as she rushed away.

"My name's Forge, by the way!" One of the twins called out from behind her.

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. "Well, see you around Gred, and Forge, and by the way, I'm _seventeen_ and if you call me a grandma one more time, I'll hex you guys into looking like Ron," she grinned as the redheads fled, but not before calling out "Bye Grandma!" one last time.

* * *

><p>As predicted, she didn't even need to do much to convince Ron to tell her just what Harry was so determined to hide from her.<p>

_"Prophecy? Oh, you're the subject of one too, you see. It's quite ironic, actually, no wonder Harry refused to say anything...Wait, you're not really going to leave Britain are you?" Ron sat up, suddenly wide awake._

After hastily reassuring him that no, she wasn't going to leave, Ron promptly went back to his afternoon nap, leaving her to mull over the unexpected development.

In fact, she became so absorbed in her thoughts she bumped into Malfoy, again.

"If you want to touch me so much, you can just ask. I'd let you, no need to pretend to bump into me all the time," he drawled arrogantly.

Callista opened her mouth to argue, told herself that he wasn't worth her time, and walked off (after throwing him the dirtiest glare she could muster).

Draco glared at her retreating back until she was out of his line of sight.

_'What is up with this girl? She doesn't even know me. How annoying. No wonder she gets along with Potter so well. And Weasley too. Ugh, Gryffindors.'_

* * *

><p>FLASHBACK/

"You think you're all smart and pretty and oh-so-powerful, but you're not. You're an attention-seeking whore, that's what you are," Walburga Black sneered at her.

"That's right, and we will be teaching you just what happens to attention-seeking sluts like you," threatened Miranda Bulstrode, her expression twisting into an unpleasant mockery of a smirk.

Callista froze in her struggles against the rope that bound her and glared up hatefully at the two girls.

Her eyes narrowing, she spat on the robes nearest to her face and taunted, "You're just jealous Tom gives you less than a quarter of the attention he gives me. Maybe it's because you're so stupid and ugly and absolutely wretched. You probably disgust him."

"Shut up you bitch!" Black lost her temper and kicked Rose's face.

She winced slightly as her cut cheeks smashed into the floor and almost screamed when she felt Miranda kick her ribs.

_'Bloody hell, that ogre has the strength of a bull. How befitting of her name...'_

Rose refused to give them the pleasure of screaming, so she could only grit her teeth as they landed blow after blow.

"If only Tom could see how absolutely pathetic you look now..." Black cackled in glee as she landed another kick.

_'Merlin's sagging balls I think I just heard a bone break!'_

"Actually, Black, I think you're pathetic. Honestly, kicking? I'd say you're no better than Muggles," Tom appeared at the doorway and spoke contemptuously.

"I- I'm sorry, Tom, you're right! I mean, spells are so much better, Diffin-"

"No!" He quickly disarmed her. Returning her wand, he ordered them to leave.

"I'll take over from here."

With delighted simpers and batted eyelashes, the two girls obeyed him and left the room, giggling excitedly as they went.

"Well? I'm waiting for you to continue the torture," Callista dryly spoke up from where she was curled on the floor.

"Don't be silly, you know I won't hurt you."

He magically levitated her to the Hospital Wing, claiming to have found her in an abandoned classroom, and to not have seen who attacked her.

When Rose furiously announced that she knew exactly who attacked her, Tom smoothly cut in, "You look like you hit your pretty hard, you might have been seeing things."

The mediwitch, like any other teacher, was completely enamoured by Tom and didn't appear to have heard anything Rose said. She simply clucked sympathetically as she listened to Tom's story before leaving to fetch some potions.

"What the hell? Why are you defending them? They broke my ribs, Tom!"

"Don't exaggerate, Rose, your ribs will be fine."

"THEY STILL HURT, YOU ARSE!"

"You know I hate seeing you hurt, but those two are useful," he murmured against her ear. She froze, uncertain of how to act with his face pressed into the crook of her neck.

"Them? They don't have half a brain," she mumbled dazedly.

"Exactly, they don't matter, don't worry about them, alright? I'm more worried about you," he nuzzled her neck.

Shuddering, heart thudding, Rose shoved him away

"That was so not fair," she grumbled as she he smirked at her discomfort.

"I hate you," she added.

Tom laughed.

"No you don't, I know you don't," he nuzzled her neck once again and then leaned away as the Mediwitch came bustling back ranting about him harassing her patient.

"Out! Out now!" She ordered as she got to work, jabbing her wand rather painfully into one of her bruises.

' Really! Ugh, everyone gets jealous over Tom.'

Rose rolled her eyes.

/END FLASHBACK/

* * *

><p>Callista groaned as she sank into one of the armchairs by the fire, the heat seeping into her, combating the chill that had crept up her spine as Ron recounted the words of the prophecy.<p>

_'Great, just bloody fantastic. So now I'm destined to help destroy Tom. Just great. If he nuzzles my neck and I'd probably just melt into a puddle and then how the hell am I supposed to destroy him? Who am I kidding? He's Tom. I couldn't stand to see him hurt at all, let alone hurt him myself.'_

Then, out of nowhere, a siren began to blare so loudly it echoed off every wall and Callista was sure that if she _was _a grandma, she would have keeled over in shock.

As it was, she simply stayed standing where she was near the Entrance Hall and looked on uncomprehendingly as all of a sudden, a flurry of madness and unorganised rush of people flooded the area. She strained to hear words amidst the cacophony of raise voices.

"-Diagon Alley now-"

"-two hundred or so, they're setting the whole street on fire-

"-Aurors were held up, don't know why!"

She finally spotted Harry's messy black hair amongst the throng of congregating fighters.

"Harry, what's going on!" She tried to shout over the noise.

He rushed towards her side and tried to press a galleon into her palm.

"Attack at Diagon Alley, here's the portkey, go!"

She stepped away from him, hands raised to avoid touching the golden coin. Harry stared dumbly at her.

"What are you waiting for? We don't have time for this, we need to go now!" He exclaimed impatiently, thrusting the coin in his palm towards her.

But she wouldn't touch it.

"Harry...I can't. I can't fight at all, and I most definitely can't fight in this war. I don't want any part in it."

"What?" Hurt green eyes bored into her violet ones, confused.

"I'm sorry. But Harry, good luck," she whispered, before kissing him on the cheek and leaving him to fight his battles.

She turned away just before he disapparated, stomach churning sickly, thoughts in disarray.

* * *

><p>AN: Hi, uhh I have some stuff to clarify.. I _promise _that Callista isn't as Mary Sue as she currently seems to be right now. There's a reason for her weird eyes, for her instant connection of sorts with Harry (as in why they hit it off so well), and why she's Rose in flashbacks instead of Callista. Anyway, if you still think that there are lots of plot hoels or if there are still things you are wondering about, feel free to review and I'll see of I can answer your questions in due time :) Cheers!


End file.
